Breaking the Lie
by m00ofd00m
Summary: Snape is the kind of person who would rather be right than justified. But one mistake leads to the unveiling of many others, and Snape realizes that the Boy Who Lived is not the infallible god that he seems. Snarry. Rated for non-con, slash, language.
1. I'm Not That Strong

Snape sighed wearily. His head was pounding, and all he really wanted was a drink, but he wasn't about to let any of that weakness show. Not when Harry Potter, cursed Griffindor annoyance that he was, sat in his armchair, looking more lost than ever he remembered the boy looking before. He scowled right back, trying to refrain from letting loose with any of the million acidic insults on the tip of his tongue. Potter certainly had no right to be here, making him feel guilty and trapped in his own quarters. Dumbledoor was a bloody fool if he thought this little arrangement was going to last the rest of the break. They had both been sitting here, glaring at each other mutely for the last hour. Potter didn't seem like he was willing to break the silence, and Snape guessed that he would have to say something soon if either of them wanted any sleep. He was about to ask if Potter intended to gape at him like the brainless idiot he was for the rest of the evening when the boy suddenly spoke, in a low, flat monotone, looking down at his knees.

"I'm sorry for causing you trouble. I know you don't want me here. I'll ask Dumbledoor to get someone else to watch me."

Snape growled a little. Damn him, was he that easy to read? "There is no one else." he intoned flatly, "We're stuck with each other." He fished in his robes and came up with a bottle of salve. "Madame Pomfrey asked me to give this to you. It's healing salve. She wouldn't tell me why you needed it though," he left the statement open in case the teenager felt like enlightening him. It was the closest he was going to come to asking about Potter. The rest was up to the boy.

Potter reached over and snatched it hesitantly, trying to avoid eye contact. Snape grabbed his wrist as he was pulling away again, infuriated. He instantly regretted it when Harry turned white and his eyes went very wide in his already-pale face. He stiffened visibly and tried to pull away, but Snape wouldn't let him. Spoiled brat was putting on an awfully good show, but he wasn't that stupid. He yanked him closer, using the wrist he had hold of. The boy screamed. Snape let go hastily and Potter retreated across the room, cradling his wrist to his stomach.

"What the Hell is wrong with you?!" he yelled, grabbing Potter again and dragging him into the bathroom. Harry struggled a little, but it was weak. Snape reasoned that if Potter had wanted to stop him he would have tried harder. He was after all a Quidditch captain, and certainly should have had some muscles to show for it.

He pushed Harry's sleeve backwards, and prodded at the flesh with his wand. The boy was shaking again, and it unnerved him. Even though it was probably just for show, he reminded himself belatedly. He flinched when Harry moaned, low in his throat, pleading. His wand twitched a bit as he ran it over Harry's arm.

He made Harry sit on the toilet as he cast a counter spell to the Glamourie he had detected. When he finished muttering the words, he saw dark purple and green covering Harry's arm, and the bone was protruding slightly. Harry's wrist was broken. Severus was shocked.

Harry sobbed when he saw his marred flesh. He touched one hesitant finger to the bruising and was distracted to Potter's growing looks of panic as he began another counter spell.

"Please! Don't! I'm fine. It's nothing, I promise."

Snape looked up, startled, and Harry pulled away from him violently. He ran to the entrance of the bathroom, and was almost there when Snape locked it without even lifting his wand. Harry whirled around, eyes wide, and then went abruptly limp, falling heavily to the floor. He would have hit his head on the counter if Snape hadn't dived towards him and snatching the unconscious body. Harry curled tighter into a ball in Snape's arms. Snape swept a stray piece of hair away from his face gently and gasped. Harry's scar was _bleeding_! A red sheen coated his fingertips when he touched them to the wound. Harry moaned and clutched at his chest, shivering even when unconscious.

Snape sighed. What was he supposed to do about this? Dumbledore was gone and there was no one else to turn to. And even then, what was he supposed to do, admit that he couldn't handle a fifteen year old boy? He laid Harry on the couch, sitting next to him, and lifted up the over-large T-shirt gently. He noticed nothing unusual, except that Harry whimpered when the dark haired man touched his ribs. Snape passed his wand over the prone body, countering all the Glamouries Harry had cast on himself. He had no idea what was going on, but he vowed that the moment Harry woke up, he would get a straight answer from him.

When the Glamouries were gone, a gaunt, pale body lay on the couch, ribs sticking out dangerously, dark bruises splotched all over the sickly skin. All he could do was stare in horror and numb disbelief. How could this have happened? Why would someone do this to the Boy Who Lived? And why in the name of Merlin was Harry hiding it from him? Was he ashamed? Snape growled. Much as he had always wished Harry Potter an early death, he wasn't at all inhuman, just better at acting indifferent than most people.

Snape picked up one of his "patient's" wrists gently, cradling the swollen bone. Lines were drawn in blood all over the exposed limb. The cuts weren't as old as the other wounds. These were recent injuries. And unlike the other ones, these had not been inflicted by another person. Some of the cuts were quite deep, and it made Snape sick just looking at them.

Right here was the reason he hated Muggles so much. He could tell that Muggles had done this to Harry because of how much evidence was left after the beatings. Wizards had ways of causing pain without leaving so many scars.

After a second of thought and scanning Harry's body, Snape tried one more spell, one that he had almost forgotten about, to see where the worst of the injuries were. Harry's leg glowed a sickly greenish color, as did his wrists, a large jagged scar that ran along one of the boy's lower ribs, a broken rib, his ankle, and his jaw. Snape remembered that he hadn't thought to cast the counter-glamourie on Harry's face. Doing so, he could only hiss in sympathy when the boy's jaw was shown to be puffy and his face covered in bruises. He noticed a split lip and very black eye in addition. Severus was nearly panicking when he finally came to the conclusion that he had to single-handedly heal Harry, coax an explanation out of him, punish the people who'd done this, support Harry emotionally, and then give a detailed report to Dumbledore when all this was cleared up. Snape blanched. He hated this job sometimes.


	2. Playing With Fire

When Harry woke up he quickly realized that he wasn't in his Aunt and Uncle's house. Dark furniture and sweeping gothic architecture surrounded him. He was lying on a giant bed with black flannel sheets and high curtains that were left slightly open to the light filtering into the room through high stained glass windows. It was certainly a change from where he had been before. He remembered Snape's voice floating about him as he flickered in and out of dreaming. Sometimes it was a cruel sound, invasive and insensitive, and sometimes the voice was softer, cajoling and concerned. But the thing he didn't remember was how he'd gotten here. Or why he was here at all. He was strangely complacent with the only answer his fogged mind could come up with: that Snape was taking care of him. It made no sense, but it satisfied what curiosity he could muster up at his odd predicament.

Something cool and dry touched his forehead, and he leaned slightly into the touch. Snape chuckled softly… wait a minute… Harry's mind backtracked, Snape _chuckled?! _There was something wrong with this dream. He opened his eyes hesitantly and was belatedly surprised when Snape's figure came into focus in front of his eyes. He tried to speak, but his vocal cords wouldn't obey him. "Poor Harry." said a gentle voice above him. It didn't sound like Snape's though. Harry tried to move, tried to turn just slightly so he could tell who it was, but his limbs felt like he was tied down. Everything was fuzzy. He wanted to scream.

"I said you could see him, but I can't let you take him out of the castle, and unless I'm mistaken, you have an anxious werewolf waiting for you at home." It was one of the most civil things Harry had ever heard Snape say to anyone when he wasn't groveling to Voldemort.

Something stirred in his mind, uncoiling it's dark, sleepy body from around his mind and a flood of memory came back. His voice suddenly worked and he was screaming again, curling into a ball on the bed, ignoring the fresh pain this caused him as it jostled bruised bones and injuries he'd nearly forgotten about in his numbness. Hands landed on his shoulders and Snape held him, black robes smelling faintly of cinnamon and herbs. The contact surprised Harry enough that he actually listened to what was being said. "Harry, come back, I gave you a numbing potion, it makes you have dreamless sleep, and it deadens your limbs. I know it's hard for you to believe, but you can trust me. I won't let anything else happen to you." And Harry did believe him, and he relaxed enough to rest his head against Snape's shoulder. After a few moments, he felt Snape sigh and say "I'm not your mother, you can't expect me to stay here like this for the rest of the night" but he didn't pull away and Harry was glad.

Some time later in the night he was vaguely aware of Snape putting him back into the big bed and crawling in next to him. He shivered and Snape put his arms around him. Harry smiled and went back to sleep, feeling safer than he had for a long time. His breathing was slow and even and he was comfortable when he woke up, though it was a little disconcerting to look over and see Snape lying next to him wearing only a gray T-shirt and black boxers. The effect this ensemble had on Harry was surprising… he had to mentally remind himself not to drool. He'd never noticed before… he'd been a little busy dodging detention and generally hating his guts… but Snape was _damn_ sexy. And here he was lying in the same bed as him. Harry couldn't stop himself, he leaned over and pressed his lips to his professor's in a sweet, but chaste kiss. Blushing scarlet he fled the room, imagining what Snape would have done if he'd been awake.

Wide black eyes watched Harry's departure, and Snape pressed tentative fingers to still-tingling lips. He smiled slightly, surprised to find a blush creeping across his own cheeks. What was Potter to him anyways… since when had he been interested in his personal enemy? What was wrong with him?! He had a sudden impulse to go after the Potter child, pin him against a wall, and taste those sweet lips again. He managed to restrain himself though, on the basis that teachers had no right to take advantage of their students… and… damn… his train of thought broke down and he realized that he'd run out of reasons worth using in an argument with the heart.

Harry was completely embarrassed. Was this what happened when you had too many painkillers in one day? Or was it some strange potion-induced dream? He wandered out of the hallway leading to Snape's bedroom into a large front room that he vaguely remembered from… had it been last night? He tried the door. It was locked. Their was no way for him to get out. He felt trapped and a little betrayed by the rest of the staff. They'd taken the trouble to rescue him from his Aunt and Uncle and then never bothered to learn why they had had to rescue him in the first place, simply accepting the fact that he had been in mortal peril without asking questions. He guessed it was a sign of how worn down the wizarding community was getting with all the new threats. Voldemort was gone, but Lucius wasn't, and the nightmares were still there. Vivid nightmares of torture, rape, murder and an eerie, evil laughter plagued every moment of sleep. Out of everything else, the laughter was the worst part of the dreams. It seemed to be mocking him, and he would wake with the voice still ringing in his head. As a result, he hadn't been sleeping very much, instead putting all his energies into hiding from Vernon, trying to make it look like he wasn't hiding. The dreams had gotten so bad that he'd had to put up a silencing charm, to keep his Aunt and Uncle from hearing his screams. It would have only made things worse, and he didn't think he could have taken anything more. He was so tired, and he didn't even want to think of what new aspect he'd just added to the game. Lust was a dangerous thing, he knew that in plenty. It was hard enough if Snape was angry at him, but what if he had actually liked it? That was almost more frightening than his professor yelling at him or kicking him out. Whatever he did, he knew that he couldn't face Snape any time soon. He didn't know what he was expected to do if he was trapped in here, but he figured that looking for his wand would be a good way to start trying to escape.

After a half-hour of fruitless searching for the absent wand, Harry was about to give up when a slightly amused voice broke into his frustration. A sleepy-looking (and adorable) Snape was standing in the hallway, smiling slightly. "Were you looking for this?" he held up Harry's wand and twirled it lightly with his long fingers.

"I… yes…" said Harry cautiously. He was wary of Snape now, more wary than he wanted to be, but old habits died hard.

"I was afraid you'd try to run away again. Then what would I have told Dumbledore, hmm? Besides, you don't need it now, do you? You're safe here. I won't let anything happen to you." he spoke gently, but the words scared Harry anyways. Protection meant possession, and… and then Snape would want something in return… and, Gods of Merlin, he wasn't ready for this. "Can you protect me from yourself?" he asked stubbornly.

"Only if you trust me." Snape was looking at him strangely, as though seeing something in Harry that he had never seen before… some potential that he hadn't begun to notice before. The appraisal he was receiving made Harry even more nervous, his knuckles turning pale as he clenched his fist, feeling the skin tear as his nails dug red crescent moons into his palm. How much did Snape know? Did he know about the Durselys? Did he know about Sirius? Did he know about pain and loneliness and the depression so deep that he couldn't see for the fog in his mind? Did he know about the fine red scars chasing his pale skin on the inside of his arm, or the bruised ribs and the painful memories surrounding each souvenir of living with Vernon? Did he know about the way his scar would flare with unexplained pain, how he would pass out from the sheer agony, and how then the nightmares would overtake his every sense, until he was writhing and crying out, the covers a sweaty mass of strangling fabric? Would he care if he knew? Harry shivered, and looked up suddenly to see dark, worried eyes peering into his own anxiously. A finger gently tilted his head back to search his eyes, and Harry found himself unable to look away.

"What did they do to you?" Snape asked softly, almost afraid that if he touched Harry too ungently, he would fall apart. The boy was so pale, and his clothes hung off of him like they belonged to someone else. His skin was nearly translucent, but his eyes were great opaque masses of suffering and accusation. Somehow Snape responded to that, and suddenly he felt guilt for every cruel word he had ever directed at Harry. He wanted to gather him up in a protective hug, but the boy was watching him with an expression reminiscent of a caged animal. Instead he steered Harry over to his couch and sat him down, conjuring a cup of tea, which he pressed into Harry's hands. "Your Godfather was here while you were asleep. I put the Glamouries back on while he was here. I figured that I'd let you tell him yourself."

"I don't think he needs to know. After all, I've lasted this long without him, haven't I?" There was a note of bitterness in his voice that obviously said, _'Yes, I'm alive, but does it really matter, because look what you've let me become.' _

Snape sighed, he didn't know why, but somehow it was partly his fault that this child came to be sitting in his personal quarters, looking so lost and defeated. He didn't know what to do. He was afraid that he'd end up getting burned if he insisted on playing with the uneasy truce of emotions between them. So he simply sat their, feeling increasing clumsy and brutish with his words, as the awkward silence stretched out between them like an ocean. An ocean filled with blocks of sharp, jagged ice and deadly currents and man eating sharks… when Harry finally spoke.

"If I thought things were bad when I was a Muggle, they took a definite turn for the worse when the Durselys found out that I was going to Hogwarts.

"Petunia never liked Lily," he said in a flat tone, like he was repeating a story that he hated, but was no part of, "but when her sister became a witch, she was completely ignored. She married Vernon and eventually she convinced herself that she had everything she wanted out of life. And then Lily _died_ on her, leaving her to raise an ungrateful, screw-up by the name of Harry Potter. Harry Potter lived in the closet under the stairs and never ate with the rest of the family or celebrated his birthday or had friends or any of the normal things kids do when they still have a childhood. It was Harry's eleventh birthday, and once again, something strange was happening, and Harry was the scapegoat of superstitions and fear. Things just got messier when letters started arriving. Great bloody truckloads of letters, and Vernon starting going completely crazy. He packed the whole family up and dragged them off to hotels and finally a small barren rock with a drafty old house perched precariously on the top. It was raining, and once again, nobody had realized that it was Harry Potter's birthday, because it had never occurred to them to care. Vernon had told everyone to get some sleep and so Harry was lying on the floor, trying to do just that, when the door burst in and a giant shape filled it. After that Harry went to Hogwarts and realized that there was more than a closet under the stairs to his life. He found out that he was the godchild of a serial killer, that his friends meant the world to him and that no matter how much people care, bad things can still happen while good people turn a blind eye." He stared Snape in the eye boldly, daring him to ask questions about his story, to challenge it.

Snape didn't, he believed Harry. "So what did the world turn the other cheek to?" meeting Harry's stare defiantly.

Harry smiled bitterly, "Nothing that can be fixed now. What is done is done, it's time for me to get over it. I'm dealing as best as I can with what I've been handed. I still have it better than a lot of people. I have Hogwarts."

"Yes, exactly, you have Hogwarts, and we would do anything within our power to help you. You're a part of a community now."

"I don't need your help."

"Being a wizard isn't about burdening other people, they would be glad to help you out if you need it. Everyone needs something sometimes. That's the difference between Muggles and wizards, we aren't afraid to voice our needs. Muggles bottle it up inside until there's nothing anyone can do about any of it anymore."

"And that's how I was raised. I don't need your help, so you can take your pity and shove it! No one else ever cared, so why should you?!"

Snape glared at Harry, uncertain what the hell he was supposed to do. He wished Dumbledore were still here. But the other man wasn't; he was taking care of a leak in the Magistrate. Lately there had been far too many problems that required Dumbledoor's personal attention for Snape's taste. The old man almost never slept and his frail appearance was exceptionally obvious to anyone who cared to notice it, the huge purple bruises under his eyes telling of long nights spend in desperate research. Harry was right, they didn't really have any time to worry about one kid, even if he was Harry Potter, and no one had bothered to see what was wrong, even when the warning signs had been glaringly apparent. Snape could not say he was innocent from such charges himself; he'd never wanted to see any side of Harry but the spoiled celebrity that he had imagined. Maybe he _was_ just as bad as the rest, needing someone to blame, someone to idolize or to hate in their darkest hours. It seemed foolish and petty now that he thought back on his own behaviour. He still had no idea what was going on here anyways, but he wanted desperately to help now that he knew the truth behind the sullenness, the unexpected joy in things he'd taken for granted living in the wizarding world.

Snape reached out a comforting hand, but dropped it back to his side nervously at the frightened look Harry gave him. He didn't understand. How could a child that wasn't afraid to say Voldemort's name, who could look the dark lord in the eye without flinching, who's parent's screams haunted his every moment, be afraid of _him_, a cranky old potion's master?

"I would like to know, that's all. I'm not promising you pity or sympathy or even that I'll be moved, I'm just offering you a person to confide in. I know sometimes that's all it takes, to put things in perspective for you, so things can begin to mend. And maybe I'll even be able to help you. I've never really wanted to help anyone before, but you," he hesitated, and continued, "you make me want to help you." He held up his hand up to forestall the protests in Harry's expression. "I already said that I wouldn't pity you, it would be too demeaning, and you don't deserve that, but I'll care about you if you want." It was more of an admission of kindness than Snape had made since his drastic decision to go against his lover, Lucius, and join the ranks of the good. He waited, breath held, expecting rejection, but it never came. Harry's eyes caught his own up in a sincere, searching gaze, and then, half desperately, his arms were full of a bundle of shivering Harry, robes caught between slender young hands, a tousled head laying against his chest. Obligingly he held Harry in gentle arms, cradling him, waiting patiently for the words that would come.

Finally, Harry pulled away a little, tears trailing down his earnest face, an open expression so filled with emotion that it hurt to look too closely at him. He asked simply, "Why do you want to care about me?"

"I," Snape was at a loss. He couldn't afford to tell the truth now and screw things up, that he wanted Harry, wanted his trust and that sweet love and those soft lips on his. Instead he replied, trying not to blush, "I just think you deserve better than what I've always treated you with. I wanted you to give me a second chance. I promise you it won't be a wasted one. I meant what I said."

"So you believed me… before?"

"Yes."

"And you promise not to be disgusted or anything?"

"Of course. Why would I be disgusted? As far as I know, you've never really broken any rules or done anything wrong, ever." he smiled grimly as Harry gaped at him.

"Really? Not even when--"

He was cut off effectively when Snape's fingers pressed against his lips, "No. Everything you did was for the good of someone else, be it your friends or a world that never really cared. You always did what you believed in, even though sometimes what you did wasn't exactly conventional. Everything always turned out right in the end. You know, 'the end justifies the means' and all that."

A jolt had gone all through his body when his fingers had touched Harry's lips. Reluctantly he took them away, but was unable to resist the temptation of Harry's hair falling across one eyes. He brushed it softly out of his face, chuckling dryly when it returned right back to its place the moment he let go. Harry's answering smile was enough to make him forgive himself for his momentary lapse in conviction. '_Severus,_' he told himself sternly, '_it's not really the boy you want, you just haven't had a good lay in a very long time. Get your mind out of the goddamn gutter_.'

As if from within a fog, he heard Harry's voice begin to speak, and immediately focused back on him again.

"I never did have a happy life with the Dursely's, but things weren't too bad until I started going to Hogwarts. Now I'm lucky if they leave me alone for a day. I can't go out of the house, because god forbid their neighbors tell stories about their treatment of me, though they make no secret of what an ungrateful, spiteful burden I am to them. Now I'm lucky to get fed. They haven't given me new clothes for several years now, and constantly tell me that I'm a disgrace to the family's good name. The only good thing that ever happened to that family was Lily, but they would never agree with me. All that isn't so bad though, not really. None of it mattered so long as I could still come back to Hogwarts after it was all over. Then things started to go even more downhill after my fourth year. After Cedric died…" He stopped himself forcefully, because thinking about Cedric was a quick way to make himself hysterical.

"They learned about the no magic rule, and so they took away my wand. They locked it up somewhere. And then they put a padlock on my door. They moved me back into the closet under the stairs. They put Hedwig outside; just let her go. I hope she went to Ron's house, at least then someone would care for _her_." He sounded bitter.

"They locked away all my school things, or threw them away, either way, I don't expect to see any of it again. Then the beatings started. Every time Petunia left, Vernon would start in on me. At first it was just verbal abuse, and then one time I talked back. I know it wasn't a smart move, but hindsight is ever perfect, right? He insulted my mum. What was I supposed to do? And he called Hermione a slut and said stuff about my dad. I couldn't take it after a while, and I just snapped. I told him to mind his own business and to leave my friends out of it.

"He knocked me clear across the room. I wasn't expecting it. My head slammed into the fireplace and I think I must have passed out. It hurt like hell. The next thing I remember was him standing over me, and a sharp pain in my ribs. He was kicking me, and screaming at me to get up off my lazy ass. I dragged myself up, if only to make him stop kicking me. Everything was sort of blurred around the edges. He grabbed me by the collar and told me to get back to my room. He looked positively livid. I ran away and was only too relieved to be locked in. I felt safer.

The next time my aunt left, I tried to hide, but he found me and dragged me downstairs where he proceeded to kick the shit out of me. He didn't knock me out this time, but I wish he would have. If I thought the pain was bad before, it was nothing compared to feeling it undiluted. I don't know why he hated me so much, I don't know what I did to make him so mad." Harry sounded genuinely confused. Not naively so, but unsure all the same. Snape didn't have an answer for him though, so Harry shook himself and continued doggedly. "When he was satisfied that he'd reduced me to the proper pile of whimpering misery, he locked me up again, threatening that if he ever found me hiding again, it would get worse. But what was I supposed to do? Just take it like a stupid puppy? I _wasn't_ stupid. I ran. That time, and every time. Even though it just made things worse. After about the fourth repeat of his new favourite hobby, I could barely walk. My ribs hurt constantly, and my eyes were blackened so much that I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. That time he knocked me off the stairs. I hit my head on the railing and cracked a rib. I heard it this time. It made me want to puke, and I was so dizzy. There was a hand on my back of my shirt, and I was flying, landing in a heap on the bottom floor. I finally gave up my conviction not to cry. I couldn't stand it. I nearly screamed bloody murder. I thought that maybe the neighbors would hear and come stop him. He stuffed a piece of rag in my mouth, and I couldn't breathe. I realized that it was part of my shirt. He… gods… it hurt so much that first time.

"After that I did pass out. I woke up in the morning, but I couldn't move, each breath sent red-hot pokers into my abdomen." Harry rubbed his flat stomach in remembered pain. "I felt like I was being split in half. It took me a couple days to actually comprehend what he had done to me. But I just tried to forget. It wasn't like I could do anything. I nearly stopped eating altogether because food wouldn't stay in my body. It hurt to breathe, to move, to even think. So I didn't. I forced myself to forget so I could go to sleep at night. I didn't expect it to happen again. But it did. Over and over again, with increasing regularity.

"Why do people do things like that?" The anguish in his voice was tempered with pleading. Harry was sincerely confused about the meaning of what he'd undergone. Snape wanted to pull him into a hug, but he was overcome with a wave of guilt. He felt dirty, and unworthy to touch such an amazing child. No one should have had to go through that kind of torture.

Snape knew about the splitting pain after the first time. But he had been a willing victim. He had loved Lucius, been far too trusting of the older, beautiful blonde boy. And he'd paid for it the next morning. The pain had been excruciating, but at least he'd been older, at least he'd been willing, if not ready for what he'd done. He couldn't imagine how awful it must have been for the teenager.

"You are truly amazing, Harry. You know that right? Not many people would have had the strength to live through that kind of nightmare. We're lucky you're still with us."

Harry eyed him dubiously, shaking his head a little.

"Did Ron and Hermione know? Not about Vernon, but about how they had treated you before?"

"We never talked about it," the words were stiff, and Snape cringed a little to hear it. He had never felt so strongly towards another since… well, since Lucius. He knew the levels of self loathing, doubt, fear, and everything in between that Harry was experiencing, but he also knew that trying to empathize or identify with Harry would ultimately undermine what the boy was feeling. He stilled his fingers, though they itched to run through Harry's hair and pull him into a comforting embrace.

"You're going to tell Dumbledoor, aren't you?" asked Harry softly, looking him in the eye.

Snape winced. He had been hoping Harry wouldn't ask him about it until he had already told someone. He didn't want to betray Harry's fragile trust so soon. "I have to. Harry, I'm sorry. I know you don't want me to. I'll only tell him what's necessary, but you can't expect me to keep secrets from Dumbledore. He saved me in a similar situation once. I was very lucky to survive. Everyone told him that no one could change like I did, but he had enough faith in me to keep trying, and he was right. Even though sometimes I wish he had never made me live, I can't bring myself to be anything other than loyal. I owe him everything." Snape cringed when Harry only seemed to draw farther into himself. Reaching out a steadying hand to Harry's shoulder he was somewhat surprised when Harry didn't try to move away. Until now the boy hadn't wanted him to touch him at all. Now he just sat their limply and didn't do anything.

"I understand." said Harry tonelessly.

"I want you to know that if I were to not tell him, then it would be as much a betrayal of your interests as Dumbledore's trust. Not only does Dumbledore need to know, he may be able to give you peace. His presence can be immensely calming if you need the respite. Sometimes it's better to let someone take over for a little while, so you don't have to think too much, especially at first." Snape drew his robe tighter around his thin figure. Being this close to something so familiar was setting every nerve on edge. He felt like he was ready to bolt at any minute. But he couldn't afford such personal interferences right now; he had more important things to worry about. _'Since when did Harry become more important than your own feelings?' _A little voice whispered in his mind.

_ Since never!. I'm just… I'm just… shutup and leave me alone! Who asked you anyways!'_

_ 'Liar.'_ His inner monologue was starting to sound extremely smug.

"Harry, you have to just trust me on this. Hiding this from Dumbledore will not help you at all."

"I'm not ready. I don't want anyone to find out."

"I know. Harry, believe me, I know, but this isn't about shame. It's not about blame or pointing fingers, it's about helping you to get through something that should have never happened to you."

"I trust you." Harry whispered, smaller hands touching Snape's briefly. Severus could feel an uncharacteristic blush creeping up his neck, both from the words and the completely innocent touch.

"Thank you." His smile was genuine and more of an indication than anything else of how far he'd fallen.


End file.
